


A Christmas Carnal

by Dame_Syrup (mary_pseud)



Category: A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Doctor Who
Genre: Christmas, Ghosts, Kinkmeme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 19:39:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mary_pseud/pseuds/Dame_Syrup
Summary: For the kinkmeme prompt: "A Christmas Carol, with Ainley!Master, three "Ghosts" visit him, and try to stop him from being evil with sex.  Ghost of Christmas Past is Three, Ghost of Christmas Present is Five, and Ghost of Christmas Future is 10."





	1. Time's Ghost

The Master sat in his TARDIS, deep in the centre of modern London, and fumed at an exterior humidity gauge.

It had been such a lovely plan to attract the Doctor's attention: the dispersal of a fear-producing gas over the hapless humans, all out carolling and shopping as part of their primitive holiday rituals, and instead there was fog. Thick, heavy, cold fog that saturated the air and rendered his gas quite useless.

He scowled at the visual scanner one last time, watching the humans go past. They were all so insipidly merry. They walked hand-in-hand or with armloads of presents, laughing and embracing friends, smiling as they thought of others. Revolting.

"I can wait," the Master snapped to himself, turning off the scanner with a harsh twist of his wrist until he felt the dial creak in protest. He would have to hope that dawn would bring clearer weather.

It amused the Master to keep a multitude of bedrooms for his use: some bare and plain, some filled with alien luxuries. He chose a room in the midrange tonight: satin sheets, not self-heating living film. Simple bed curtains, decorative and bulletproof, and an armoured door just in case. He stripped out of his velvet finery, tucked away his day weapons and strapped on his night armament, and lay in the darkness, thinking.

Slowly he realised that it was not dark.

There was a light outside the bed, something dim and blue and moving. Moving. The Master reached for one of his weapons, rolling silently to his side and inching open the curtain.

The bedroom outside was spartan: one bureau, two heavy mock-wooden chairs in front of a holographic fireplace. The carpet was a subtle riot of colours in the blue glow, which seemed to be coming through the door to the corridor.

There was a knocking at the door.

The Master waited, totally alert, breathing through his mouth silently. Whatever was out there was not getting in, not through that door.

Then the blue light blazed up, intolerable. The Master squinted, as fast footsteps approached his bed. He fired his needler four times through the curtains as they were pulled aside.

Standing over him, staring down at his bare body and twisted features, was a woman. A dark woman, strong and sleek and utterly self-contained, clad in a sleeveless robe that rippled a deep flaming blue. Her hair was dark, and her eyes were two tunnels to infinity.

"You will have three visitors," she said, and her voice echoed as though she stood at the bottom of a mineshaft.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?"

She stared at him. "Three visitors, and you will have no power to turn them aside. They will be the Doctor as he was, the Doctor as he is, and the Doctor as he will be."

The Master's tongue flicked out and touched his upper lip at the first mention of that name. "Did the Doctor send you?" he demanded.

"No." She shook her head, her hair rippling like falling rain. "The Doctor is coming, three times. Once at the first bell, once at the second, and once at the third. You cannot refuse him. You cannot deny him-"

"Deny him I shall!" the Master snapped, rolling out from the far side of the bed and snatching an armoured cloak from its rack. He backed against the wall, covered from chin to toes in red-and-green woven metal cloth, and felt a bit safer. "He will not come to me!"

"He will come to you," said the blue woman, coming around the corner of the bed. She rested her hand on the bedframe, and her expression was sad. "I will help him. He will show you what will be, unless-"

"Unless what?" the Master asked, after a long and painful pause.

There was no answer. The blue lady faded away as though she had never been.

The Master promptly ran for the control room, to scan and re-scan the ship. There was no record of any intrusion, no audio recordings or light fluctuations: whatever the entity had been, the TARDIS had not detected her at all!

"Stupid machine," he sneered, pounding an angry fist on the control panel. Then he froze, staring at the local time readout.

It was nearly one o'clock, local time. 'One at the first bell...'

The Master ran. Ran for the strongest protected room in his ship, stopping only at the armoury to pick up new weapons. Then he ran again.


	2. The Doctor That Was

The Master was sealed up, sealed away, behind steel and collapsed beryllium plating, force fields and electrified barriers. Around his pallet was an arc of deadly weapons: automated ones facing out, and hand weapons ready for his grasp.

He had considered leaving this time and place. It would be easy enough. But he had spent so much effort preparing this latest trap for the Doctor, it pained him to surrender based on the words of an illusion.

He sat cross-legged, the armoured cloak tight around his neck with the collar up. He was safe, he had to be safe. He held a blaster in one hand and his TCE in the other, which meant that he was quite surprised when a familiar cool hand suddenly slid the length of his thigh and cupped his groin.

The Master shouted, lunging backwards to pin his attacker against the wall with his weight. He craned his neck to see — him.

The Doctor, but he was young again. He was young! His lined face and blazing white hair were from centuries in their past.

"Hello," he said, in that familiar deep voice. The Master could feel him through the armoured cloth: he was real, not just a vision. "I've come to have a little talk with you."

"Do you usually begin your conversations with an uninvited caress?" The Master's words were meant to sting.

"It worked the first time. Look," and the Master looked.

"Where are we?" he snapped, furious. The armoured walls were gone, replaced with familiar carved stone draped with emblazoned curtains and traced with metal inlay.

"It's the Academy, see?" the Doctor whispered in his ear, his hand slowly exploring the Master's bare body, the hairy chest and hard-muscled thighs. "And there we are, in disciplinary study."

The Master could see: two young men, seated at their desks, bent close over their viewscreens. They were wearing the robes of students. Now one of them reached under the other's robe and-

"You loved me then," the Doctor whispered, and the Master turned on the other man with flaming contempt on his face.

"I never loved you, or anyone!" he snarled. "Love is the urge to please another, and I wish only to please myself. To conquer worlds, to rule galaxies-"

"Once you only wanted to see them," the Doctor said; his hand had found the Master's cock, thick with excitement, and was stroking it with a steady rhythm. "Once you wanted to go with me, explore and learn and grow together-"

"We were children. Young fools." The Master swallowed; he'd never been able to resist the Doctor when his fingers stroked him just so, and now he cursed whatever intrusion program or subterfuge had allowed him to penetrate the TARDIS and abduct the Master — that is, if this wasn't all just a drugged reverie, or a hypnotic trick.

He said as much to the Doctor, and he only smiled, those so-familiar smile lines creasing the sides of his face. Then he leaned close and pressed his cheek to the Master's, the smell and touch of his flesh, the tickle of his hair against the Master's ear, and the hand under the cloak started to move faster.

The Master breathed hard through clenched teeth, waiting for this to be over.

"No, no," the Doctor said, leaning back and touching the Master's hair with — affection? No, it was a trick, it had to be a trick! "Don't you remember? We were going to be together. And it's not too late."

"Too late?" the Master snapped.

"You can still choose. Put aside your evil habits, relent in this insane pursuit of unobtainable power! Stop chasing a thing that you will never have, and come back to yourself," he pleaded. "Come back to me."

The Master panted now, open-mouthed, and then the Doctor turned his wrist just so and the Master jetted over his arm, helplessly spending. His eyes rolled back in his head, but with his last erg of strength he pulled the disintegrator from its hidden pocket inside the cloak and fired, on full power, waving it wildly, blotting out the Doctor and the room and the young men and...and...

The Master woke on his back on the pallet. He quickly shot to his feet; his thighs were wet, but there was no other trace of the Doctor's presence.

After another scanner replay, he was convinced that it was a mental projection, or a hypnotic implant of some kind. Well, that could be countered as well.


	3. The Doctor That Is

The Master sat in the Zero Room, cross-legged. His eyes were closed, and he breathed in and out in a carefully controlled rhythm. He was putting himself into a trance: inside his mind, he would be safe. He would stay in suspension until after the third bell, three o'clock Earth time, and then he would leave.

There was only himself, secure within his mental barriers, and the Zero Room around him, and the TARDIS around that, and the wheat-golden light rising out of nowhere, coalescing into the form of a man.

A naked man, blond and broad-shouldered, with blue eyes that met the Master's with pity and not a little exasperation.

It was the Doctor, again.

"You are not here," the Master gritted out.

"Oh really?" The Doctor was cross-legged even as the Master was, hovering in the darkness; then with the most natural gesture in the world he leaned over and rested his head on one arm, lying in front of the Master all bare and delectable.

"Why are you here?" he snapped, accepting the Doctor's presence for the moment.

"I want to show you the universe. Come," and the Doctor rose, standing over the Master and holding out his hand.

"I am not dressed for travel," the Master snapped; in fact he was dressed in nothing but his bare skin.

The Doctor smiled. "I'll keep you warm." He wrapped one arm around the Master's shoulders, and they began to walk.

They walked in the boots of giants it seemed; every step took them to another place and time. Wild dances where blue-skinned aliens swayed; Christmas parties with presents and laughter; roaring bonfires in the lonely holds of ships between the stars; oceans where fish swam in patterned arrays under a flaming sentient moon. There was one thing in all of these little glimpses of alien life, and that was affection. Connection. Even-

"I don't love you," the Master snarled.

"No, and yet — I don't think you hate me, either." The Doctor stepped in front of the Master, held his upper arms lightly in his. "You think of my unhappiness as passionately as any lover desired another's joy. And for all the chances you've had to kill me, you've never struck the last blow. Why?"

"I-"

"Why?"

"I — I don't know." Surely the Doctor knew why. Because he had never been able to crack the Doctor, bring him as low as-

"As low as you?"

"As low as me?" The Master laughed, and the laugh stuck in his throat. "You are a hallucination, responding as I think the Doctor would respond. That is all you are, and that is nothing!"

"Would a hallucination do this?" and the Doctor sank to his knees, running his lips in a trail down the Master's stomach and then urgently bending his head to slip his limp cock into his mouth.

That limpness did not last. The Doctor's mouth and tongue caressed him, and the Master sagged in turn. Together they twisted, hovering weightless now in the void, and it seemed perfectly natural to take the Doctor's cock into his own mouth, to suck as he was sucked, to lick as he was licked.

That shut him up, the Master thought, and then the Doctor spoke within his head.

~It would take time for you and I to forgive each other,~ he thought. ~Years, centuries even. But I am willing to give you this. I am willing to give you my life, if only you will give me yours.~

~I will not die for you.~

~Everyone dies.~

The Master did not want to think about death or love. Instead he concentrated in the flesh in his mouth; he concentrated on licking and sucking, and then running his tongue over the Doctor's tip, bringing him closer, closer to the peak. He felt the Doctor working on his own cock, rasping with his tongue and teeth, pressing against the roof of his mouth, harder and faster.

The Doctor came, filling him with golden light, flooding down his throat, pouring out in an endless flood that lit up the inner gloom. All the barriers fell, walls tumbling, flames gone, as the Master and the Doctor came as one, giving themselves, giving-

The Master denied it. No. No. He would not, he would not, no!

He pulled himself away from the Doctor's embrace, from the Doctor's mind. He fell, deep and deeper inside himself, and finally came back to consciousness — on the floor of the Zero Room.

"Right!" he said, rolling to his feet. He needed a bath. And he needed to plan.


	4. The Doctor That Will Be

The Master put his clothes back on, and waited in the console room for the third bell and the Doctor's final materialisation.

Slowly, very slowly, the room darkened. A gloom seemed to rise around him. He smelt rotting leaves and wet grass.

With the blink of an eye, the TARDIS was gone. The only light was starlight; he craned his neck and saw Earth constellations.

He was in a forest. Silence: no sounds of birds or insects. Trees around him, and a clearing up ahead. In the clearing was some sort of structure, a low wooden table perhaps, and a man sitting on it. A man in black.

A little tingle of delight awoke in the Master's hearts. He imagined a Doctor who had submitted to the inevitable corruption of power; a Doctor who served the Master.

He entered the clearing, grass rustling against his boots, and the man looked up. His hair was dark and spiky, and his eyes were two black pits in his face, the face of a skull under the starlight.

"Are you the Doctor who will be?" the Master said, standing tense and ready.

"Yes," the other man said, and smiled. That smile was too bright, too brilliant, to belong to anyone but the Doctor. But there was no submission in that smile.

"And this is all you have to show me?" the Master said, turning on one heel.

"I wish," the Doctor sighed, one hand drumming a disturbing beat on the wood under him. "I wish that I could offer you more. A feast for the future, a cup full of stars. But no: this is all there is. Just you and me in the darkness."

"If you have nothing to give," the Master eased forward, "then perhaps I should simply take." And with those words he was on him.

He lunged over the table, knocking the Doctor backwards, pinning him against the rough wood. There was something odd about the table, but he ignored that. All that mattered was tearing at the clothes of the man under him, who stared up at him with miserable eyes as the Master efficiently stripped him.

"No promises of revenge if I do this?" the Master hissed; his own bared cock was rampant in his hand, waiting to thrust deep and hard. "No warnings?"

"We're past that now," the Doctor sighed. "If this is what you want..."

"This is all I want!" He spat and wet his flesh, and then sank deep into the sublime heat of the Doctor's body, feeling him tighten. Yes, yes, this is what he wanted: to rape, to defile...but the Doctor wasn't fighting back. Why wasn't he fighting back?

The Master grabbed him by the hair, jerking his body into a bow so that he could stare into that tormented face. It was tormented, but not by what he wanted to see. He saw grief, and loneliness, and love in the Doctor's eyes. The night was somehow brighter now; his eyes must have adapted to the dark. He leaned forward and kissed that slack mouth, kissed it hard enough to hurt, and felt the lips part and the Doctor inhale his breath as though it were perfume.

He smelled his own rut, and the Doctor's sweat, and smoke. He reached out with both arms and pulled the Doctor closer, trespassed on him with mouth and tongue and cock, and the Doctor embraced him in turn, shuddering as though in terror.

The Master froze, or tried to: but his body kept thrusting at the Doctor's willing form, even while his mind realised where he was.

The light was from flames. Fire was rising from the wooden structure where they lay, trapped in each other's embrace. This wasn't a table, or a bed.

"It's a funeral pyre," the Doctor wept. "Your funeral pyre; I lit it with my own hands. And when I did, I...I burned the last of the Time Lords, except for me."

"No," the Master gasped, feeling the rasp of smoke in his lungs.

"Gallifrey is gone."

"No!"

"The Time Lords are gone. We are — we were - all that remained. And you don't know, you can never know, how much I wanted to lie on this pyre with you. How much I wanted to burn."

Without warning, the Doctor's hands were afire; he caressed the Master and left flaming tracks on his bare flesh. The Master screamed, and found himself thrusting, thrusting, even while his flesh burned, even while his eyes went blind with smoke, he felt his skin blister and his hair smoulder and the Doctor's embrace was hotter...and hotter...hotter...as they burned, melding together, melting together, into grey sterile ash.


	5. Not Quite The End of It

The Master screamed and awoke. He fell, collapsing on the familiar floor of the TARDIS. He must have fallen asleep, standing at the controls.

The floor, it was there. He touched it with gloved hands, peeled his gloves off and caressed the floor with bare unblistered fingers, and finally leaned against the controls and laughed in sheer happiness of being alive.

Alive!

For one moment, his hearts were full of trembling possibility. What if — what if he did put aside his old habits, his old fancies? What if he wrote off what he had done in his life so far as bad work not worth doing, and started over? He was free, he had his TARDIS and could go anywhere and anywhen, he could do, he could be — anything!

Then a cold part of his mind awoke and began to argue. Was he really going to throw away all that he had achieved, all that he had made and destroyed, and say that it was all for nothing? No, no, a thousand times no!

"No matter what," he swore to himself, "I will not let myself be tricked. I am better than the Doctor. These phantoms that he has shown me are just that, phantoms. Nothing real. Never to be real!"

He rose to his feet, and quickly set the controls. Away from this world, now! The gas could wait in cold storage until he had found a new planet. A new plan and a new planet, that's what he needed. He would set a trap for the Doctor, and he would finally, utterly destroy that man!

And as the Master's TARDIS flew through time and space to set the first of many traps for the Doctor, the innermost core of that sentient machine (which, if it could have had a humanoid form, would have been a dark women clad in blue) wished wistfully for one thing: that someday, somehow, the Master would learn to love her, as much as she loved him.


End file.
